


shades of purple

by starsailors (orphan_account)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 07:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13359852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/starsailors
Summary: Most people assume that Jake doesn’t know a thing about actual love. They’re right. He doesn’t. But in between study dates, hair dyeing, and three am phone calls, Rich might just teach him a thing or two.





	shades of purple

Here’s some things that everybody knows about Jake Dillinger:

  1. He loves the color red.
  2. He throws the wildest parties.
  3. He’s had so many flings that he probably has no idea what _love_ even is.



Here’s some things that nobody knows about Jake Dillinger:

  1. His second favorite color happens to be purple.
  2. He used to throw huge blowout fests in order to fill up his otherwise enormous but empty house. All the sweaty teenage bodies kept the place warm, even if he had to keep buying and picking out solo cups every other week.
  3. He _does_ know what love is. It’s whatever he feels whenever he looks at Rich Goranski.



 

* * *

 

Jake feels like he’s coming down with something. Maybe it’s a fever, a stomach bug, or food poisoning. _Something_ is wrong with him, at least, because he’s looking at Rich and their skin is touching and his heart is doing some freaky gymnastics. It feels like it’s just about ready to leap out of his chest.

That would be dangerous and terribly gory. Jake doesn’t want to die like that. Is that even possible?

This might be a problem.

Rich presses even closer to him. After a lot of time and a lot of talking, he’s stopped wearing jackets over his tank tops. While Jake is really happy about that, the skin-on-skin contact is setting his body on fire.

“Okay, man, so this problem right here.” Rich points a finger at it as if the textbook has personally offended him. “It’s giving me hell. I’m so sure I’m doing it right, but it’s not agreeing with me.”

Jake leans closer to take a look. Rich has very warm skin. A little rough where it’s marred with burn scars. He should not be thinking about this right now. It’s only giving his heart even more energy to jump around like a maniac. _Focus, Dillinger,_ he snaps at himself. He leans over to check out whatever Math problem is bugging Rich, because Rich is more important than the somersaults his hearts are doing at the moment.

“Dude,” he chuckles, “you _are_ doing it right. You just got the numbers wrong. That’s a _twenty-five, not_  a forty-four.”

Rich squints, then bursts out laughing. His laugh gets more boisterous when they’re both alone like this. It’s infectious. Jake can’t help but chuckle, nudging him playfully. Rich’s laughter softens into a lopsided grin, and he nudges him back. They go back to doing their homework in comfortable silence, with only their study playlist interrupting the quiet.

As it turns out, without the Squip forcing him to act indifferent about school, Rich is actually pretty good at most of their English subjects. He actually _enjoys_ them. As for Jake, well, words don’t come easy to him, but numbers do. Because of their varying weaknesses and strengths school-wise, they decided that study sessions together would be a good idea, and that making a study playlist would be an even better idea.

As it turns out, they both have hilariously different music tastes.

Jake doesn’t actually have any strong preferences. He just listens to whatever is popular at the moment, which is almost always really upbeat pop and love songs. Rich, on the other hand, likes all kinds of obscure bands and rock music.

One of Rich’s songs is playing right now, and he’s nodding his head along to the music. He’s even drumming on the table with his pencil, and Jake feels...he _feels._ He just does. He finds himself humming along absently, caught up in the moment.

Rich gets up abruptly. “I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back, dude!”

Jake mock-salutes him. “Don’t forget to flush the toilet!” he calls out after him, and receives the finger in return. His heart slowly calms down, and he lowers his head onto the table. He’s a little scared that he’s actually coming down with something. Wouldn’t hurt to figure it out.

He decides to consult his phone.

_my heart is being real weird???_

Google doesn’t ease his worries. All he gets are medical articles on arrhythmia and anxiety.

Rich emerges from the bathroom. “Man, I’m thinking of dyeing my hair. Like, a red streak would be real cool! But then I’d look like a fuckin’ rooster, and I like blue better, anyways. What do you think?”

He tilts his head, imagining Rich with a red streak. “Red is my favorite color.”

A snort. “C’mon, man, everyone knows that.” He pauses. “If I’m blue, and you’re red, we can be, like. Purple. Hey, purple is cool. I don’t think I’d want purple hair, though.”

Jake hums. “Alright, maybe we should get this work done. We can figure that out later.”

The playlist switches to one of Jake’s music picks. It’s some over bubbly love song.

Rich grins. There’s that funny feeling again.

Maybe Jake _should_ go see a doctor.

 

* * *

 

Rich doesn’t like to drink. He never wanted to. During one of their “Post-Squip Bro Talks,” as they’ve dubbed them, he quietly admitted that he was scared of becoming like his father. Guilt takes over Jake’s brain whenever he thinks about every time he handed Rich a red Solo cup.

Jake doesn’t throw parties anymore.

After “The Incident,” as they’ve dubbed it, Jake moved in with his aunt. It’s relieving. Their apartment is small, but it feels so much more like home, and he doesn’t have to worry about bills anymore.

He’s trying to avoid drinking, but sometimes there’s still an itch. Like now, when he’s at a party and everything reeks of beer and alcohol. They only came because they figured a little fun wouldn’t hurt anyone. Except it is. It’s hurting Rich. He’s not saying anything, but Jake can tell, and it pains him to see the fear and anxiety creeping up in his eyes.

He smiles reassuringly at the shorter boy and leads him through the crowd. Everything reeks, but thankfully nobody is smoking. The cheap strobe lights flash in blue and pink, and a faint swash of purple streaks against Rich’s cheek when Jake turns to check on him.

“The lights are bi colors!” Rich yells over the noise, calming down when they reach a more quiet corner. The anxiety fades away from his face, and he grins.

God. What Jake wouldn’t do to keep him smiling forever.

“I know! It’s rad!”

Rich stands on his toes and yanks him down to say, “Wanna check out the kitchen?” without having to shout. Jake laughs, and neither have to say a word before they make their escape. Rich hoards the bowl of chips and hops up onto the corner. Jake leans against it next to him.

“Man, this party is ridiculous. I feel kinda sorry for Dustin. He’s gonna be mopping up beer spills for hours tomorrow.”

Rich snorts, but it’s muffled by him crunching on chips. “The music sucks, too. Who made this playlist? I just wanna talk.”

He chuckles, just a little fond. One thing Rich is extremely passionate about is music. He eyes the unopened beer cans on the counter, but the itch is gone. There’s less of a desire to drink and dance away his troubles lately. His parents are a distant memory, and he has actual friends that care about him for who he is, not the perfect boy everyone believes him to be.

“How’s your legs, by the way?”

Jake rests his crutch against the counter. According to his physical therapist, he’ll be able to start tentatively and slowly going back to sports soon, but there’s still some strain. “Eh, they’re good, but if we stayed there any longer, I’m pretty sure someone could’ve knocked me over like a bowling pin.”

Rich hums and offers him some snacks. Jake picks out a corn chip. Rich hesitates, then says, “Hey, they’re playing some vaguely decent music. Wanna go dance in a corner, or something? Let’s show these suckers how it’s done.”

Jake laughs, feeling his chest lighten.

“Alright. But I’m warning you. Despite the leg damage, I’ve still got some sick moves. Try to keep up, Goranski.”

Rich grins back. “Show me what you got, Dillinger.”

They find a less crowded spot in the room, and they both laugh and stumble over each other. They’re both actually fantastic dancers, but they seem to have a silent agreement that dancing horrendously would be a thousand times more fun. Rich grins up at him as he butchers the moonwalk, the lights flashing in his eyes, and Jake, well.

Jake doesn’t feel like an empty, fake-gold trophy of a boy at all.

He feels alive. Ridiculously, breathlessly _alive._

 

* * *

 

Jake doesn’t realize his feelings until “The Phone Call at Ass o’clock AM,” as he’s decided to call it. At some point in time, he and Rich both decided that all life-changing incidents deserve titles with proper capitalization, and he’s just rolling with it.

His new bedroom is small, with just enough room for a bed and a closet. He does his homework on the dining room table and keeps his phone tucked beside his bed. So when his phone starts ringing at three o’clock in the morning so close to his ear, he jolts awake so fast he nearly gets whiplash.

His aunt’s room is on the other side, and he hastily accepts the call for fear of waking her up. He doesn’t even have the time to check the caller ID.

“Hey,” he says, voice slurred. “Good—uh, fuck— _morning?_ Is it morning? ’Sup?”

He hears ragged breaths on the other end. “Jake?” Rich says on the other end, voice weak and scratchy, and Jake jolts awake in an instant. His heart beats a mile a minute, brain running through all the possible reasons Rich would be calling. Is it his father? Did he call by accident? Does Jake have to punch someone? Because he might be half-asleep, but holy shit, he is willing to punch someone if necessary.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispers, pressing the phone closer.

“I’m—oh fuck! It’s three am, I’m so sorry for calling. I just...I just…”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s fine. You okay? Any asses you need help kicking?”

A deep breath, then a shaky laugh. “Thanks man, but I—I just needed to check on you. I just needed to be sure you’re alive. God, you’re here, you’re fine, it’s fine. Sorry again, I’ll just…”

“Wait, don’t hang up on me!” Jake hisses. There’s silence on the other end, but he can hear the faint sound of Rich breathing. He takes a deep breath of his own. “What do you mean, ‘needed to make sure you’re alive’? Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?”

“You were burning, Jake,” Rich whispers, voice distant.

Jake holds his phone closer to his ear, as if doing so would magically bring him to Rich’s side. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Rich mumbles. There’s a beat of silence, and Jake aches to reach out to him through the phone screen. He’s seen Rich caught up in the middle of the fire, wreathed in flame. He’s knows what it’s like to be so desperate to know that someone is alive.

“Okay,” Jake whispers. “Hey, uh, lemme tell you about this thing that happened in physical therapy yesterday…” He goes on to recount anything funny he can remember happening. Anything to lighten the mood.

Rich laughs softly, voice laced with sleep, and Jake wants to record that sound and replay it again and again and again, but that’s a vaguely creepy thought, so he shoves it away and carries on with his story. Everytime Rich responds with _that laugh,_ or a deep chuckle, Jake feels himself sinking down deeper. And deeper. And deeper. He carries on anyway.

“And then, guess what happened?” No response. “Rich?”

“G’night,” he replies sleepily. Jake barely catches it. “Thank you.”

He laughs fondly. “Sweet dreams, bro.”

Jake stares at the ceiling for a while after that. He rubs his eyes and sees stars. The room is cold but he feels warm, somehow. He knows this feeling. He knows this feeling. Words may not be his forte, but _dammit,_ he knows this feeling. 

He knows...he knows…

knows...it’s…

it’s…

 

* * *

 

_Love._

Jake jolts awake with that word stuck on a loop in his head. Well, maybe not _love,_ exactly. More like something that could lead up to it. Jake’s sixteen-year-old self isn’t willing to rock the boat with the big L-word. He’s still getting to know the Real Rich Goranski, anyway. But _crush_ and _like_ feel awfully childish, so he decides to give them the title of “Feelings with a capital F”.

It’s the best he’s got.

His alarm jolts him from his reverie, and he makes his way to the kitchen.

He contemplates this revelation over toast, over the sink as he’s brushing his teeth, and as he’s pulling on his favorite red jacket. “Feelings, huh,” he mutters to himself, and waits for the shock. It never comes. Shrugging it off, he makes his way to school, and tries to untangle the mess of thoughts in his head at the moment.

He sees Rich walking some ways ahead.

“Yo, Richie G!”

Rich turns around, then his face breaks into a grin. That smile seems to yank at the tangled mess in his head and unravel it in its entirety. It feels like a punch to the face, like, _oh._ Of course he has Feelings for Rich. Any place he’s in gets brighter whenever Rich steps in.

_Of course he has Feelings for Rich._

Jake feels like a dumbass.

But Rich is waiting for him, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and he has no time to be dumbfounded. He jogs over to his side. Where he’s supposed to be. _Of course he has Feelings for Rich._ What the hell, how had he not realize it sooner? He feels like laughing.

“Alright,” Rich says. “I’ve been thinking. You know how I mentioned dyeing my hair? I think I’m gonna go for a red stripe after all. I mean, you know, it’s been a pretty big color for me this year, so…”

“That’s awesome!” Jake says. He pauses. “You need help with that? I’ve been helping Auntie with her dye jobs, but don’t tell her I told you. She likes fooling people into thinking she’s younger than she really is.”

Rich laughs, miming zipping his lips. He even throws him a wink. Jake nearly chokes on air, but that’s fine. He’s fine. “I’ll take you up on that offer!” he says, voice cheery. It doesn’t match the bags under his eyes.

Jake smiles, then nudges him gently. “You okay?” he murmurs. “Uh, after last night, I mean. Just checking.”

He receives a slightly tired but rather happy smile, and a thumbs up. “Yeah,” Rich says. “It’s, um, it’s all thanks to you, man.” Jake just grins, but Rich shakes his head, holding the door open for him. “No, Jake, I mean it. I know I’ve thanked you, like, a bajillion times by now, but it’s still not enough.”

Jake softens, stepping into the hallway. His heart throbs somewhat painfully. The ache in his gut grows more prominent.

“It’s more than enough,” he says, mostly to himself. “Like, shit, Rich, you just _being alive_ is more than enough. I’m so fucking glad you are.”

Rich snorts. He looks fond and exasperated all at once. “Just say _you’re welcome_ and keep walking, you humble, too-good motherfucker,” he says. “Accept that I’m eternally grateful to you.”

Jake just laughs, not knowing what to say.

Maybe, _you’re the one who’s too good for me._

Maybe, _you’re funny and you’re kind and you’re the best friend a guy can have._

Maybe, _oh god, I really fucking like you._

But Jake doesn’t have time for maybes. He can wait.

 

* * *

 

“Stop moving, Rich, oh my God,” Jake says, elbowing him. Hunched over the sink, Jake mixes the bleach and hair dye together. It’s a small bathroom. Rich nudges him back, and he laughs. “You dick, you’re the one who wanted this.”

Rich, perched on the sink, clumsily holds up his phone. “’Cause you’ve never done a streak before, we should probably do research before actually doing this. Jake. Jake _. Jacob._ Watch the damn YouTube video.”

“I’m wounded, _Richard,_ ” he retorts, sticking his tongue out. “You don’t trust me on this?”

“No,” he deadpans. “I trust you with my life, but not with my hair. Now get over here and watch the damn video with me before I start calling you Jacob for the rest of the week.”

Jake isn’t a huge fan of being called Jacob. It makes him sound like an old man. He laughs, though, knowing full well Rich can’t actually carry on with the threat, since Jake has _Richard_ in his own arsenal. Maybe the real reason they bonded is because of their ancient-sounding names. Still, he leans closer and watches the damn video, because he would rather not fuck this up.

 _Okay, Dillinger, keep your cool,_ he thinks to himself. Now is not the time to be freaking out over closeness. Christ, having deadbeat parents really does leave you touch-starved. The fact that this is _Rich_ makes it even worse.

Rich is a pretty touchy person, and without the Squip holding him back, there’s a lot of casual touching going on. Jake loves it, but with the newfound realization of his Feelings, he’s way too hyperaware. Rich rests his elbow on Jake’s shoulder and it feels so natural. It feels right, but it also feels like Jake is going to explode with the desire to reciprocate somehow.

He keeps his eyes trained on the phone and doesn’t move.

The bathroom light is blindingly white.

He squints and leans closer.

“Okay, you can do that, right?” Rich asks, turning to him and oh wow. Their faces are really close. Really. Close. He can see the blue in his eyes. Jake can barely muster a grin and thumbs up as he leans away to continue stirring. His palms are a little clammy. This is ridiculous.

Rich starts humming from his spot on the sink. He’s swinging his legs. Jake is endeared.

He starts to move along to the beat, and Rich grins. Soon enough, they’re having a small dance party in the cramped bathroom, and their laughter seems to be bouncing off the walls. It’s silly and so them and Jake adores it. Judging from how Rich is chuckling and drumming on the sink with toothbrushes, he’s having a blast, too.

Jake almost forgets that he’s supposed to be dyeing Rich’s hair. He’s reluctant to stop, but they have a job to do.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” he says. “I’m pretty sure I’ve over-mixed everything by now.”

“Don’t fuck this up, Dillinger. I don’t want bleach in my eyes.”

“Wear this,” Jake says, tossing him one of his old shirts. Rich catches it with ease and slips it on. It fits him right around the shoulders and arms, but it’s a lot longer than it should be. The ache returns with full force. “Okay, c’mere, let’s do this.”

Rich laughs and pumps his fist in the air. The shirt sleeves are also way too long.

Jake places a hand on Rich’s forehead. Hopefully if any dye falls out, it’ll land on his gloves instead of on Rich’s skin. They’re close, so close, so close, but now’s not the time for these intrusive thoughts. The Stokes go smooth and even on his ungelled hair. Jake unconsciously sticks his tongue out in concentration. The as soon as the red starts to bleed through, he grins.

“This is gonna look so cool.”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

With a final sweep, Jake pulls away. He looks at Rich. Rich looks at him. The air feels vaguely electric. Jake has no idea what is going on. He wants to lean in, to narrow the gap. His body aches to move forward. Rich interrupts their strange stare-off with a cough.

“I gotta, uh. I gotta wash my hair.”

Jake nods. Rich has a strange look in his face. “I’ll—I’ll get you a towel. Be right back.”

He shuts the door behind him and leans against it. _What the heck?_ he mouths to himself. The water starts running on the other side of the door, and he shakes his head. He goes to look for towels and doesn’t about closing the distance between them, what that would feel like. He doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Jake resigns himself to keeping his Feelings under wraps. He’s an excellent liar. No one knows about his criminal parents, no one knows about his insecurities, no one knows anything that Jake doesn’t want them to.

Except there’s one small problem. Rich happens to know _all_ of the aforementioned secrets. Jake has never actually actively tried lying to him before. A few months into being friends, Rich asked why he had never seen his parents around. Jake laughed bitterly and said _“oh, they’re on the run,”_ without even thinking about it. It’s stupid, looking back, but he trusted Rich then and he trusts him now.

Except he can’t know about Jake’s Feelings. He can’t. Their friendship may be solid, but they’re both still making up for their respective faults. Nothing in the world is indestructible. Jake has this stupid fear that this might just be their breaking point. That this might be _his_ breaking point. He’s avoided getting his heart broken so far. Sure, it’s a little roughed-up and cracked in more places than one, but it’s still functional. _He’s_ still functional.

Well. Somewhat functional.

Lately, just looking at Rich is rendering him useless.

He makes a frustrated sound, shoves the door open, and throws the towel into the bathroom. “You can use the hair dryer if you want!” he yells. Rich hums. Jake thinks that the fact that Rich knows where the hair dryer is must say a lot about them. He knew where everything was in the old house and he knows where everything is now. There really is no hiding from him.

The door bursts open.

Jake jumps, then turns to see Rich beaming at him. It’s one of the biggest, most genuine smiles he’s seen from Rich in a while. He has the towel thrown over his shoulder. There's streaks of water running down his face, trickling down to his neck. The red dye shoots through his messy hair like flame, and Jake can already feel the heat.

His heart swells.

“You look amazing, bro!” he says, then pauses. “No homo, though.”

Rich flashes him a peace sign, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “Thanks for helping out, man. You’re the best.” He claps him on the back. “You, uh...you really don’t mind me staying the night?”

Jake stares at him. “Rich, c’mon, I’m the one who offered.”

He laughs sheepishly, rubbing at his neck. “I know. I just—no, yeah, you’re right.”

Jake chuckles quietly, placing an arm on his back and steering him towards the living room couch. “C’mon, we can finish up on homework. Auntie’s not coming back until late, though, so we’ll have to microwave some macaroni for dinner.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The couch is an old, worn, thrift-shop kind of thing, and it’s one of Jake’s favorite things about this place. He sinks into the cushions, gathering his things from the coffee table. Rich grabs his laptop and plops down next to him, taking up all the space and settling his feet on Jake’s lap. Jake laughs and uses his legs to prop up his book. They start working in comfortable silence.

The sun is already halfway down the next time Jake looks up from his work.The last rays of light are painting the bare walls in shades of orange-gold. The sky streaked pink outside, and Jake turns to see Rich staring out the window with an unreadable look on his face. The light streaks his face in soft yellow.

Jake’s breath hitches in his throat.

Rich turns to him, a smile spreading slowly on his face.

The ache in his chest returns tenfold, and Jake stops fighting against it. He lets it spread until it’s not quite so painful anymore. It touches his heart, his throat, his hands. Jake feels like this is his body’s way of telling that every part of him feels for Rich, too.

“So,” he says slowly, afraid to break the moment. “Mac and cheese?”

Rich is already on his feet. He stretches his arms over his head. “Yeah, man, I’m starved. I’ll go heat it. Gimme a few minutes.”

The hum of the microwave takes over the silence. A faint violet cloaks the clouds. It really is a wonderful color. He can hear Rich banging around the kitchen.

He’s startled from his thoughts by Rich setting a bowl in front of him. He settles down next to him, his own steaming meal on his lap. “What’re you thinking about there, buddy?” he asks, pointing at him with his fork. “You looked pretty lost in the clouds, there.”

“The sky is purple,” Jake says, and starts to eat as well. “Like us.”

Rich grins. “You growing fond of the color?”

“Yeah,” Jake replies. He feels soft. Vulnerable. “I am.”

Rich stares at his food. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you watching something?” Jake asks, looking up from his textbook. Rich looks up at him, schooling his features into fake innocence. He sighs. “Just finish your essay, man.”

Rich pouts. “Fine, but when I’m done, you’re watching this movie with me.”

“Sure,” he says easily, then Rich starts typing impossibly fast, squinting at his screen.

Jake chuckles to himself. It’s good motivation for the both of them. He can’t remember the last time he’s sat down and watched anything. He’s always been too much of a busy person to do that, always needing to do something _productive._ Lately, with his leg injuries, he’s had to press pause on a lot of clubs, and the breather is incredibly helpful. He’s starting to realize that taking care of himself is just as productive as going to extracurriculars.

“Done!” Rich exclaims, pumping a fist into the air. He turns and gestures with one hand. “Alright, move your ass over here, I’ve been waiting to watch this for ages.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Jake’s mouth, and he all his notes and frantic thoughts of schoolwork aside. He scoots closer, but not too close. He doesn’t allow himself the luxury of contact. He doesn’t think of thighs touching, of _just closing the gap—_

He doesn’t. He can’t.

Rich closes the light, and they’re plunged into the violet darkness.

Somewhere along the line, Rich shifts a little and Jake goes to the bathroom and they wind up even closer than before. Jake startles awake from his hazy thoughts when he realizes this, and Rich chuckles. “C’mere, bro,” he says patting his shoulder. “I won’t mind.”

Jake’s sleep-addled mind allows his resolve to soften. He leans his head against Rich’s shoulder. He moves around until he find a more comfortable position for the both of them. He feels warm, sleepy, and more at home than he’s ever felt in his entire life.

It feels a lot like finally giving in.

 

* * *

 

His eyes open slowly. Alertness shocks Jake awake, his eyes catching  the kitchen light open. Jake has always been a light sleeper, what with his parents fleeing and his constant need to be doing something, _anything._ He also noticed the blanket draped over him that wasn’t there before.

 _Oh shit,_ he thinks, turning to see Rich’s face. He fell asleep on his shoulder.

His aunt emerges from the kitchen. “Oh, Jake, you’re up. That’s great. Sleeping on the couch wouldn’t be good for either of you.”

“What time is it?”

She hums. “Half past ten.”

He turns to look at Rich again. The laptop is already shut and tucked  away on the table. Probably his aunt’s doing. His eyes are closed, and his lips are parted slightly. He looks at peace, and Jake smiles to himself.

“Woah, cool it with the heart eyes, kid. You’re gonna wake him up with your loving gaze.”

He grimaces. “That obvious?”

She smiles knowingly, like she knows something he doesn’t. “You two should go sleep a proper bed. We don’t want you getting stiff neck, you know. Let me know if you need help setting anything up.” She starts to leave, but pauses. “Oh, and Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Grow a pair and ask him out soon, won’t you? This is agonizing for all of us.”

“Auntie!” he protests, and she snickers. The sudden loudness stirs Rich from his sleep. He opens his eyes, then squints at Jake. “Hey bro. We fell asleep. Let’s go brush our teeth then hit the sack. I’m ready to go pass out again.”

Rich grumbles in response, but he gets up, offering Jake an arm to lean on. They make their way to the bathroom. Rich has his own toothbrush resting in the cup by the sink. Jake yawns and washes his face with warm water. Rich spits out toothpaste foam into the sink. If he were any more awake, Jake would be struck with the realization of how weirdly domestic this is, but as it stands, it just feels normal.

“I should probably,” Rich yawns, “set up my mat.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Look, man, just share the fucking bed with me,” he says, like he’s offered more than once before. He’s a little more nervous now, what with his newfound revelation getting in the way, but hospitality comes before his mushy Feelings. How bad can it be? “It’s big enough for both of us.”

Rich usually puts up a fight that he ends up winning, but he seems too sleepy to care.

“Fine. But I’m a professional sleep boxer, so don’t complain. You’ve been warned.”

“Whatever, man,” Jake says. He drags him into his room before either of them can change their minds. Rich is too sleepy to put up a fight and he’s too tired to chicken out, so they collapse onto his bed without much thought. The darkness is more welcoming than thought-provoking for once.

“Do you think,” Rich mumbles, “that sheep count humans before bed?”

Jake groans and smothers him with a pillow.

 

* * *

 

Jake’s body is programmed to wake up at five-thirty on a normal school day. On the weekends, though, he sleeps until seven, usually. It’s Saturday, but he wakes up at around six after basically getting slapped in the face. He groans and shoves the offending hand off of him.

“Rich, fuck you,” he mutters, opening his eyes. Everything is blurry for a moment, but his eyes adjust. He tries to go back to sleep, but all the grogginess is gone. He groans again, turning around to try another position, but he finds himself nearly mouth-to-forehead with Rich and he jolts away like he’s been burned. The heat in his chest erupts into fire. _Rich, fuck you,_ he thinks again, more vehemently.

It’s too fucking early for this.

Rich’s lips are parted, and he’s snoring a bit. The faint light swathes him in shades of gold. Jake can’t stand to look anymore. The fire turns into shame. He grits his teeth and turns away. He feels almost a little disgusted with himself, because. Well.

Rich is his friend. Rich is his _best_ friend. _Rich is a boy._

Jake has nothing against boys liking boys. Boys liking boys is great. Rich likes boys. That’s great. Still, he thinks of the people at school finding out...what his parents would think...what the rest of the world would think...

“This sucks,” he says aloud.

Rich stirs next to him, and he bites back a curse. The shifting stops, though, and the snoring starts full-force. He gets smacked in the face again. With an exasperated sigh, he shoves Rich’s arm off him and gets out of bed quietly. It’s _way_ too early in the morning for this. He needs coffee and to never think about this again. He silently prays to the caffeine gods for guidance.

His prayers are answered when he sees his aunt shrugging her coat on by the doorway.

“Hey, kiddo. Why’re you up so early?”

“Rich punched me in the face,” he deadpans. “He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

She laughs. “I’d say you’re both more trouble than you’re worth honestly.”

Jake scratches his head. His hair is ungelled and his clothes are a rumpled mess. If there’s any moment where he’s allowed to be vulnerable, it’s probably now. “So,” he says slowly. “About what you...said...yesterday.”

Her face softens. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.” He takes a deep breath. “I want to ask him out. I do. But, I mean, c’mon. Rich and I are sorting through some things. I don’t wanna risk messing everything up again. It’s been a long time since someone’s been this... _important_ to me. I just want him to be happy, y’know?”

She gives him a weird look. “Jake, are you listening to yourself right now?”

“Uh.”

“Have you ever considered that, oh, I don’t know, _maybe_ Rich would be real happy to know that he’s so important to you? Sometimes what makes you happy can make other people happy too, you know. Let yourself be selfish for once.”

Jake blinks back, feeling like he’s been slapped in the face. “This is embarrassing,” he manages to say. “Why am I talking to you about this again?”

She snorts, already heading for the door. “Trust me, it’s just as embarrassing for me. When you two get together, I’m gonna feel like a stranger in my own house. Hell, I already do.”

“ _Bye,_ ” Jake calls out, voice a little strained. His face is definitely red. It is _definitely_ too early in the morning for this. He hasn’t even had coffee yet.

He heads to the kitchen and starts to work. Even when he’s done, he just stares deep into his mug like it contains all the deep dark secrets of the universe. The most embarrassing part is that he actually got really good advice. He’s been hit in the face multiple times both literally and metaphorically and it’s not even eight o'clock yet.

The war in his heart dies down. He can feel it beating a little calmer, settling into peace with itself. Whatever happens today, it would be best to just tear off the band-aid. Rich _deserves_ to know that he’s loved. Jake owes him that, at the very least.

“Woah, what is in that cup and why are you looking at it so intensely?”

Jake startles a little, then relaxes. “Coffee. Want some?” Rich nods, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Jake stomps down his treacherous heart before it starts to swell with fondness. He pours him a cup and watches as Rich dumps basically a truckload of sugar into it. No wonder he’s so hyper all the time.

He gulps down his own drink, half-hoping he had alcohol at hand. He could use some liquid luck at the moment.

Rich wanders off, staring out the windows. He’s quiet. Jake leans against the counter and watches for a moment, trying to decipher whether it’s a good quiet or a bad quiet. He can usually figure it out easily, but today is another story entirely.

He doesn’t say anything when Rich wanders off to the balcony. He just follows quietly, not even bothering to complain about the cold. His cup is still warm, anyway.

Rich is leaning out over the railings, staring up at the sky. Jake sees the clouds blushing pink.

“G’morning,” Jake says. He rests his back against the door, acting calmer than he actually feels. His brain is cruel enough to show him a ridiculously dramatic movie reel of him jumping out of his burning house with Rich clutched tight in his arms.

“You’re thinking about it too, aren’t you?”

Jake doesn’t bother acting like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “Yeah, I am.”

Rich is quiet after that. They both let the silence settle over them. Jake can’t tell if it’s awkward or comfortable or some twisted combination of both. The clouds are already shifting, and the pink is fading to gold. Jake shivers slightly, his cup already losing warmth. He downs the rest of his drink.

Even after The Incident, he isn’t scared of heights, fires, or Rich.

He sets his cup aside.

He shouldn’t be scared of his Feelings either.

Jake makes his way towards the edge. Next to Rich. “Hey, man,” he says softly, knowing full well that his best friend is beating himself up over the fire and all the things left in the wreckage. He refuses to let him roll around in the ashes like this. “We’ve talked about this, right?”

“Right,” Rich repeats shakily.

“So, uh. What brought this on?”

“I sleep a lot better around you,” Rich admits. He still won’t look at Jake. “Today I...I slept the best I have in a long time. Truth is, I’m a lot better around you in general, and now I’m freaking out because...I…”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow. “Because you what? Rich?”

“Nevermind.”

The silence takes over again, and Jake’s a little annoyed because it’s intruded in their conversation more than enough. So, like the idiot he is, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m a lot better around you, too,” he blurts out. Rich finally looks at him, and that opens up the floodgates and he forgets how to shut up. “I like that you’re so unregrettably _you_ and I like how we’re purple together and I like getting to know the real Rich Goranski and I guess what I’m saying is...that...I’m kinda freaking out too because...I…”

“Because you what?” Rich asks slowly. His eyes are hopeful. “Jake?”

“Because I _like_ you,” Jake says sincerely. It comes out a lot easier than he expected it to, like releasing a breath he never knew he was holding in. “I really do. Bro like you and romantic like you. All the likes. At this point I’m just rambling cause I don’t really know what I’m doing. Could you say something? Or, like, punch me in the face? That’s cool, too. Did you know you punched me in the face _twice_ this morning?”

“Jake, oh my god.”

He turns to see Rich laughing, looking the happiest Jake has ever seen him. The sun’s out but Rich is still the brightest thing around for miles, wreathed in golden clouds and smiling. This is a moment Jake doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Rich tilts his head. “I’ve never heard you babble on like that before.”

“Shut up. What the heck was I supposed to say? I was just spitting out words on autopilot cause you were just standing there and I was losing it. I’ve never had to do that before. Uh, _confess,_ I mean.”

“Right, of course. I forgot that you’re used to having people tripping over themselves to date you. Oh, how the tables have turned, huh?”

Jake eyes the twinkle in Rich’s eye. “You’re going to make this extremely hard for me, aren’t you?”

Rich snorts. “Oh, definitely,” he says. “I mean, you haven’t even kissed me yet. You’re fucking hopeless.”

He stares at him in disbelief, but his chest lightens. “You haven’t even told me how _you_ feel yet! Are you gonna leave me hanging here? Don’t be cruel, man.”

“Fine.” Rich softens a little, his eyes smiling. “I like you, Jake. Bro like you and romantic like you. I’ll give you a full confession later if you want, but in the meantime, could you, like. Kiss me? Before our lips freeze off?”

“You’re impossible,” Jake says, but he meets him halfway anyway.

Despite everything, he’s actually really warm, and he knows Rich is, too.

 

* * *

 

Here’s some things only Rich Goranski knows about Jake Dillinger:

  1. Jake’s sentimental. So goddamn sentimental. Enough to make purple armbands for the both of them. If anyone questions it, they just look at each other like they’re sharing an inside joke and say, “It’s a nice color.”
  2. Jake’s new apartment is small, but it’s big enough to call home. It’s also big enough to dance together in with only minor injuries.
  3. His heart will be safe with him.



 

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, the title is from [for him](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Pv8e2oLW0v0) by troye sivan. thanks for clicking on this! hope you liked it. also, yeah, you best believe that jake dyes his hair to match rich at some point because that’s just how they roll.


End file.
